Falling To Ruin
by Dan Sickles
Summary: Set a short time after the "Second Sons" episode in Season Three. Queen Cersei has finally had enough of Margaery Tyrrell's perky personality, clever schemes and naked ambition. Margaery thinks she can handle the older woman, but over wine and conversation things take a most unexpected turn! Rated T for some mild femslash and some adult themes and language.
1. Chapter 1

FALLING TO RUIN

_I do not own the genius of George Martin and Co. Also, this is my first GAME OF THRONES story and I haven't yet read all the books, so please comment nicely!_

"You, come here. I want you."

"Yes, sis - Yes, Your Grace." Margaery Tyrrell put a hand to her mouth, covering up her crooked little half-smile. If Queen Cersei had spoken softly, issued a polite invitation, the shrewd young political climber might have felt some misgivings. She might even have become suspicious. But the queen had merely appeared in the palace corridor and crooked a finger in her direction, ordering her to follow as though she were no more than putty in the royal hands.

"Now that Tyrian and Sansa are married, your marriage to my son Joffrey is only a matter of time." The sourness of tone made the queen sound resigned, even defeated. She gestured towards a heavy book mounted on a small table in her private bedroom. "As queen you will need to know all the revenue sources of the Queen's Purse."

"May the Seven bless you, Your Grace." Margaery couldn't resist a sly half-smile as she dipped a curtsy, knowing that her slightest movement made it look as though her thin, sleeveless blouse might just pop off her shoulders and expose her bare bosom. It was a fitting bit of revenge on scowling Cersei to show off her slim and youthful figure, even though the older woman was truly a stunning beauty in her own right. But the current queen always wore the more formal type of gown, even on a hot summer day like today. As the two of them sat down on the huge royal bed together with the book between them, Margaery was aware of both her own flowery perfume and the deeper, more musky scent which Cersei wore.

"You will notice the shipments of male and female slaves, which are commonly made up of criminals," the queen began, turning the pages with her slim white fingers. "But you may not be aware that for many of these slaves, the ending point of the journey is not merely a mine or a labor camp deep in the Red Waste, but rather a House of Pleasure owned and operated by our loyal subject, the man they call Littlefinger. These palaces of sin stretch from Valyria to Qarth and well beyond. And as queens we draw a share of the profits."

"We do? I mean, yes, of course we do. How clever you are, Your Grace!" Margaery flashed her most brilliant smile, thrilled to be addressed as an equal. It was strange to be sitting on the huge royal bed with Cersei, listening attentively as the queen explained how each house of pleasure attracted a different clientele. The more lavish houses catered to every taste, including men who loved men and women who loved women. Margaery could all but hear the coins jingling in the Queen's Purse, yet she tried to ignore her greedy thoughts and focus on the sound of Cersei's voice.

Cersei's personality was unpleasant, yet she had a lovely voice. She spoke in a gentle murmur, the words blurring after a while into a soothing flow that seemed to caress Margaery's senses. After a time, she shoved the book away, putting it back on the low table beside the bed. Margaery noticed how gracefully she moved. Cersei was now describing how a young slave new to the arts of pleasure was often put in the care of a wiser, older female and instructed not only with words, but with caresses and kisses.

"It's very warm in here," Margaery said, putting one hand to her throat with a nervous little laugh.

"Wine." Cersei didn't bother with a goblet herself, but merely filled the golden cup and passed it to Lady Margaery.

"So the . . . the money that fills the Queen's Purse comes from the suffering and degradation of helpless slaves?" Margaery tried to get rid of the feeling that there was something dirty about learning the secrets of a great queen's power and authority. But her mind kept flashing pictures of naked slave girls, forced to parade in chains before wealthy and powerful men . . . or wealthy and powerful women. If she was a slave, would Queen Cersei pay to have her unchained and brought to her bed?

"Some slaves rise to high station through the arts of pleasure," Cersei said mockingly. "And sometimes, the reverse is true. Some who would be queens are reduced to slavery by their own scheming. Would you care for some more wine, Lady Margaery?"

"Wine," Margaery repeated. The wine was the reason she was suddenly unable to think clearly. Her eyes rested on Cersei's face, which was strangely blurry, and then dropped to her firm and gloriously rounded bosom. Margaery batted away a sizzling picture of her lips on Cersei's nipples. "You . . . drugged . . . my . . . wine."

"Of course, dear." Queen Cersei took the golden goblet from the younger woman's nerveless fingers, and set it carefully on the low table by the bed. "Don't worry, I haven't poisoned you. You'll wake up in several hours, quite unharmed except for a pounding headache. Of course by then you'll be chained in the hold of one of Littlefinger's secret ships, bound for a life of pleasure beyond the seas. A slave's life, but then what else does a slut like you really deserve?"

"Brother," Margaery said thickly, dragging herself to her feet. "Gr-grand . . . mother. They . . . they'll know."

Queen Cersei gave a low, earthy laugh. "Please, an ancient crone and a boy who wants to be a girl. I think I can manage them. You were always the clever one in the family, Margaery. So strong, too. Except for one unexpected weakness."

"Not weak. Strong! Hate . . . you . . ." Margaery's will-power was so strong that she actually managed a lurching step in the queen's direction, her arms flung wide. If she'd been wide awake, perhaps she might have wrapped her hands around the queen's throat and choked the life out of her. Instead she fell forward and lost consciousness, her world going black as laughing Queen Cersei caught her in her arms.

Margaery's last, humiliating thought was that her own utter destruction and the ruin of her house mattered less than the blissful sensation of falling into Cersei's open arms.


	2. Rat Patrol

_Chapter Two: Rat Patrol_

What the king liked best was to hear them squeal. There was nothing on earth as delightful as a rat's last squeal while being impaled on the royal dagger.

Some people thought Geoffrey Baratheon was a coward. Oh yes, the young king knew. The young king knew everything. Whenever he looked around the court he saw the looks of fear, but he also saw the contempt and disdain. None of these overdressed popinjays knew that he was fearless when it came to hunting down rats. When it came to hearing them squeal.

When it came to watching them die.

Geoffrey was supposed to be resting in the heat of the afternoon, on the orders of his mother and his grandfather. They said it would cool his brain. But what Geoffrey liked to do best in the hot afternoons was sneak down into the cellars. And hunt the rats. He knew secret tunnels and passageways. He knew where they bred. He even knew how to call them, crouching down as though he were one of them, and going, "chk-chk! chk-chk!" Perhaps he would find the greatest rat of all this afternoon, the one they called Willard. Or perhaps he would find Willard's son, Ben. The flea-ridden beggars in Flea Bottom told stories of Willard and of Ben. Rats who led armies of their kind. Rats who knew no fear. Perhaps someday they would tell stories of how Geoffrey proved himself in dark combat underground, against the filthy peril of the rat kingdom.

Suddenly the boy king froze, dagger at the ready. Watching from the shadows, he saw two Gold Cloaks carrying something in a sack towards the river. Perhaps some palace servant had displeased Queen Cersei. Geoffrey felt no compassion, only curiosity. And anger because someone had killed a living thing without allowing him to watch.

"You there!" Geoffrey cried, in his petulant manner. "Put down that body. I command it!"

"Orders from the queen," said the bigger one, a black-haired brute with a cruel, freckled face. "She gives the orders round here, understand?"

"Yes, I understand." Geoffrey was amused. He turned to the smaller Gold Cloak. "Kill him." The man didn't move, and the boy king felt panic. Was he really as weak and powerless as everyone said? Then he thought, "what would my slippery little worm of an uncle do?" He smiled, instead of getting angry. "I offer you a chance for advancement, my friend. KILL HIM!"

That did the trick! The smaller gold cloak actually attacked his mate. Geoffrey watched, fascinated, wondering what it would be like to be big enough and strong enough to kill someone who was actually fighting back. For himself he liked to kill smaller things, that squealed and wriggled under his knife point. But then, danger struck again, for the big black-haired brute seemed about to force the smaller gold cloak to his knees. Geoffrey struck at once, heroically, stabbing the big man in the back while he was distracted.

"Thank you, Your Grace!" The smaller gold cloak wasted no time in putting his own blade across his companion's neck. Just to be sure. "He was no good, your Grace. Jo-Ell Nad-air was just no good."

Geoffrey laughed. "Maybe I should have backed him instead of you." The smaller, blue-eyed man flashed him a look of uncertainty. And fear. The young king felt ten feet tall, but he smiled. "Kidding. Just kidding! What is your name, gallant warrior?"

"They call me Jai-Brun, Your Grace." The young swordsman straightened his shoulders, his chestnut brown hair gleaming in the faint, unhealthy light.

"Give me your sword."

The man called Jai-Brun kneeled as the young king lifted the gory blade. "Rise, Ser Jai-Brun!" Geoffrey gave him a close look as he rose. The new-fledged knight looked to be about his own age. That was good. Geoffrey knew he needed young men who could rise with him if he was ever going to seize power - true power - from his worthless grandfather. And his mother. And his uncle.

"My loyalty and my sword alike are yours, my king."

"Very well, then." Geoffrey pointed to the rough sack lying on the filthy floor of the secret tunnel. "Who is that?"

"I don't know, Your Grace. The queen told us to take the girl to the docks. She isn't dead, just unconscious."

"Really?" After a brief struggle - part of him wanted to stab his dagger into the sack, over and over, just for fun - Geoffrey bent down and slit open the sack instead.

The dagger fell from his royal hand in shock.

His bitch of a mother had gone completely mad. It wasn't some clumsy parlor-maid. It was Lady Margaery Tyrrell!


	3. Monstrous Desires

_Chapter Three: Monstrous Desires_

"All right, so what happened then?" King Geoffrey was determined to get to the bottom of his mother's latest plot. Lady Margaery Tyrell had awakened in his bedroom with a pounding headache, but otherwise she seemed perfectly fine. It wasn't like Queen Cersei to leave her victims alive.

"Your Majesty, I don't feel I should say anything more." With her eyes downcast, perched on the very edge of mad little Geoffrey's bed, Margaery looked the very picture of maidenly modesty. "It wouldn't be right for me to speak of your mother's unnatural desires."

"Unnatural desires?" Geoffrey laughed but his eyes were cruel as he sat down beside Lady Margaery on the bed. He seized her long, brown hair in one fist, and yanked so that she had to look him in the eye. "You will tell me everything, future wife, or I will do worse things than mother ever did."

"Very well, Majesty." Margaery met his gaze and didn't flinch. "This afternoon your mother summoned me to her chamber, and she wanted me to look at the records of the palace finances. Only she didn't put the record books out on the desk. She spread them across her royal bed, and motioned for me to sit beside her."

"Yes, go on." Geoffrey was impatient, but he sensed he couldn't just order Margaery to get to the point. She was different from Sansa and the other girls. She wasn't afraid of him. So if she took her time there had to be a good reason.

"Well, while we were sitting together in her bedchamber, the Queen drew me closer and began talking of slaves, telling how young females are trained in the arts of pleasure."

"Did she threaten you with slavery?" Geoffrey asked.

"Not exactly," Margaery confessed. "She seemed more interested in me than angry. She kept saying that I might be from a noble house, but I looked exactly like the sort of girl who would fetch a very high price in the slave market. But she didn't sound angry. Her voice was soft, almost gentle. She kept patting my knee and running her fingers through my hair, saying over and over how beautiful it was."

"I wish I was in my mother's place," Geoffrey blurted out. As a king he was entitled to say whatever was on his mind, yet for some reason he actually blushed. Lady Margaery had a way of putting a spell on him with her voice and movements. His head was full of monsters, everyone said so. But when Margaery spoke the monsters in his head seemed to sleep. Only his body remained awake, his blood surging and all his manly parts starting to swell and throb in a way that was total madness yet wasn't at all like his other feelings.

". . . and I shall be yours forever, willingly and gladly," Margaery was saying, caressing Geoffrey's cheek in much the same way as Cersei had caressed hers a few short hours ago. "But only if you can keep me safe from the monstrous desires of your mother."

"Yes, yes, of course!" Geoffrey wanted to kiss the slim, scantily clad Margaery even more than he wanted to kill his mother. He'd stab Cersei over and over again, but first . . . but first . . . a sudden jab of pain made him cry aloud.

"You may kiss me after the queen is dead," Margaery said, smiling at the dazed look on Geoffrey's face. "Swear your undying loyalty to me, my sweet and brave and handsome king. Swear you will protect me always."

"Yes, yes, I swear!" Geoffrey was a little frightened. He didn't know how he had been disarmed. He had been leaning closer to Margaery on the bed, his eyes closed, anticipating his very first kiss. Instead his cheek burned like fire. When he opened his eyes, Margaery was smiling at him. His dagger was in her hand, and the point was dripping blood.

His blood.


	4. Cats and Rats

_Chapter Four: Cats and Rats_

"My grandfather and my mother are coming to dinner tonight," Geoffrey said, looking down at Lady Margaery on the bed. "When they see you it will mean trouble. You're supposed to be dead, remember? And I'm supposed to listen to my grandfather Tywin's council. When I don't he has them drug me, and lock me in my bedroom." Geoffrey felt shame and rage, both feelings sharpening his desire for Margaery. For a moment he wanted to squeeze his hands around her slim white neck. Yet as soon as he pictured himself strangling her, he had the oddest feeling of wanting to kiss the bruises around her throat. Geoffrey didn't understand what was going on inside him. One minute he wanted to hurt Margaery, and the next he wanted to kneel down and . . . and worship her.

He should be killing her, not sharing secrets of his throne!

"When they question you, you will fly into a rage," the brown-haired beauty in the enticingly skimpy gown said, almost as though she were giving him instructions. There was a faraway look in her cool blue-gray eyes. "They don't know that you are already a man . . . a man who has already taken the woman he desires."

"Bloody right!" Geoffrey felt warm inside and out at the way Margaery described their first joining earlier in the afternoon. In actual fact it had all happened very quickly, he being both very eager and a little frightened. The way she'd nicked his cheek with his own gold-hilted dagger had only inflamed his desire. Yet at the crucial moment he'd spurted too soon, staining her thigh rather than entering her most sacred place. Instead of mocking him or showing distaste the resourceful Margaery had rubbed the residue of his desire on her face, even smearing some on her lips. Then she kissed him, her sticky mouth fierce and hot, telling him they were now joined forever. Geoffrey believed her; he felt bound to her in an exciting way he couldn't understand. He was becoming more and more enthralled by Lady Margaery's cunning and her cleverness. "I'm not a boy now, I'm a man! If Grandfather Tywin tries to get rid of you I'll stab him right at the council table!"

"Very clever," Lady Margaery nodded. "Strike him before he strikes you. But what if we could find a way to make him rush upon his own fate? You and I could eliminate him and your mother at the same time. Didn't you tell me that you have friends among the Gold Cloaks, and in other places? What I suggest is . . ." Margaery leaned over and whispered in the young king's ear, one hand gripping his shoulder.

"Splendid!" Geoffrey cried. "That's splendid!"

Later that night, at the banquet table, Tywin Lannister was scolding his daughter Cersei. "That son of yours is out of control," the old man said, his precise and quietly spoken words seeming to scrape across the spoiled queen's flesh. "He needs to be placed under strict supervision."

"Good evening, grandfather," Geoffrey said, cheerfully sauntering into the banquet room. "Mother, where's Lady Margaery?"

"Lady Margaery went away," Queen Cersei said coldly. "I sent her on a little . . . vacation. Sit down and eat, my handsome young son."

Geoffrey immediately flew into a rage, almost as if he were putting on an act. "How dare you! No-one leaves my court unless I command it! I am the king here! I will have you and grandfather roasted alive!"

Old Tywin Lannister sneered with unfathomable disdain. "Guards," he said. "Take the young man to his room. And give him something to help him sleep."

"Yes, Ser Tywin." The Gold Cloak nearest Queen Cersei bowed low. But instead of seizing the mad boy king, he whipped his huge blade out from beneath his cloak. Then before Tywin could react the Gold Cloak chopped off his spoiled daughter's head!

"How dare you!" Tywin Lannister was an old man, but his sword was out in a moment. The renegade Gold Cloak had already dashed out the door. Geoffrey clung to his arm, whining and sniveling like the wretched little coward everyone believed him to be.

"Grandfather, wait! Please don't chase him down! That's Ser Jai Brun, a renegade and a murderer. We think he murdered one of his comrades only yesterday in the cellars! It's dangerous to go down there, so dark and horrible!"

"Let go of me, you sniveling whelp." Tywin shoved Geoffrey backwards so that he nearly fell over his own mother's headless body. The floor of the banquet room was sticky with her blood. "Call the other maidservants, you little snot, and have them clean this up. I want my daughter's body prepared for burial."

"Yes, grandfather." Geoffrey kept his face lowered, so Tywin wouldn't see the deadly smile on his arrogant young features.

The old man was utterly confident in his skill with the blade. Without stopping to call for his own knights, he followed the renegade Gold Cloak deep into the cellars. Tywin was like a cat, stalking his prey. There was nothing a cat feared in the shadows of King's Landing. Even the scurrying, rustling sound of hundreds of tiny feet did not alarm him.

Not until it was too late.

"AAAAAAAAAAAIIIIIIGGGGGGH!"

"Cats and rats," Geoffrey said quietly, hearing his grandfather's final scream. The old man's arrogance had been his undoing. Not even the king of cats was a match for thousands of rats.

"Oh dear, what's happened to your poor mother?" Lady Margaery stepped into the banquet chamber and put her hand on the young king's shoulder, careful not to soil the hem of her skimpy dress.

"Mother betrayed her king. She betrayed me! We should dump her body in the river, like a Flea Bottom whore," Geoffrey said, with a wild laugh.

"Very good, my love," Margaery said softly, caressing Geoffrey's cheek. "But may I keep the queen's head? I want to send it to someone."


	5. Motherless Monster

_Chapter Five: Motherless Monster_

King's Landing was a splendid palace, but Lady Margaery Tyrell didn't care for the rooms that Queen Cersei had decorated. They were too lush, too opulent . . . too Cersei!

Margaery liked the rooms that old King Robert Baratheon had enjoyed. Her favorite was the billiards room high in the north tower. It was cool and airy even on the hottest afternoon, and you could see the whole city. The furnishings were sparse, very male yet very comfortable. There were swords and shields hung on the bare white walls, and deep leather couches and reclining chairs tucked in the corners, and of course, in the very center of the room, a fine old billiards table with the wooden frame all polished and the felt of the table top a lush emerald green.

Margaery adored billiards, even though it was a vulgar pastime and quite new to Westeros. She was just lining up a complicated practice shot with her cue in her hand when her elderly grandmother came wheezing up the tower stairs.

"Margaery, dearest, you won't believe it!" Olenna Tyrell's wrinkled face was beaming, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

"Hush, grandmother," Margaery whispered, with a secretive smile, laying a slender finger across her ruby lips.

"Oh, yes." The old woman glanced briefly at the young man lying face-down on the nearby couch. "Margaery, dear, you've got to hear this," she continued, in a lower voice. "The Stark family received the package you sent, with the head of that miserable woman Cersei inside. They say they want to negotiate a peace treaty!"

"Excellent," Margaery replied, in a tone of cool satisfaction. "Let's hope that when the Greyjoy family receives the other gift I'm sending out they'll want to make peace as well."

"But how can you make an alliance with the Starks and the Iron Islands at the same time?" Her grandmother asked, worry written plainly on her kindly, wrinkled features. "Both great houses seek control of the North. How can you convince that fierce old Greyjoy and his wild daughter that we're sincere in our offer of friendship?"

"King Geoffrey will win them over," Margaery assured her kinswoman. She was leaning gracefully over the table, preparing her next billiards shot.

"He will?" Olenna Tyrell surveyed the sleeping boy, her expression doubtful.

"Geoffrey will play his part perfectly." There was a sudden, sharp crack as Margaery made her shot, sending balls rocketing in all directions. Each one found its true course, sinking at once into the proper pocket.

"You mean you're sending that wretched boy to negotiate with the Greyjoy family? Geoffrey's no match for them. He's weak and spoiled, not to mention stupid and cruel. Down in Flea Bottom they call him the Motherless Monster!"

"I know what they call him." Margaery put up her cue, giving the worried old woman a playful punch on the shoulder. "Please don't worry, grandmother. Geoffrey's cruel spells are much better now that I've begun adding a little something to his wine."

"Ah, so that's why he's slumbering so soundly."

"The wine helps," Margaery acknowledged. "But it also takes some strenuous sports to tire him out. Things like billiards, or . . . more intimate amusements."

Olenna Tyrell raised a bushy white eyebrow. "He's manageable in bed now, too?"

Margaery shrugged. The casual gesture made her small, pert breasts nearly tumble out of her skimpy top. "I'm with child now, grandmother. Geoffrey has outlived his usefulness . . . but he's lived up to his side of the bargain. I have a male heir growing inside of me. The child will cement our claim to the throne once he's out of the way."

"And Geoffrey suspects nothing?" Olenna was impressed.

"I see to it that his nightly adventures in my bed are good and tiring. Quite exhausting, in fact. Even when he's awake he's quite easy to manage. All I have to do is look deep into his eyes, and snap my fingers. He obeys just like that!"

"Goodness, you are clever!" The old woman giggled. "But if you're sending King Geoffrey to the Iron Islands as the commander of an invasion force, or as a diplomat . . ."

"Don't be silly, grandmother. I'm sending him to the Iron Islands as a slave."


End file.
